Prisoners
by DesertAnubis
Summary: Khan, his memory wiped, is the unknowing prisoner of Admiral Marcus under the name John Harrison. In order to keep him from remembering who he is, the admiral has tasked another of his prisoners, a romulan named Ayror, to manipulate him - as romulans have a reputation for being masters of deception. But it still blows up in his face...


Backstory: Ayror is a romulan defector who had been hiding in Federation space for several years before Admiral Marcus kidnapped her. He wanted insight into the romulan culture and assistance in designing stealth technology and developing a spy network (similar to how he wanted Khan for his savagery). He kept her in place by threatening the life of Kenny, one of the humans of the Federation outpost she'd lived at - Kenny had been the one to give her a chance and teach her how to be a functioning member of society.

This story is supposed to take place right before the events of Star Trek: Into Darkness.

* * *

"His name is Khan Noonien Singh, but he'll be going by John Harrison." Admiral Marcus said as they stood in the observation deck, looking in at a cryotube. "He'll be 'transferred' to weapons development, to aid you."

Ayror studied him. "A human Augment."

Marcus glanced up in surprise. "Yeah. Studied your history, did you?" He added; he hadn't told her anything about that.

"Yes, I did." Her mouth twitched. "You're playing with fire."

"Which is why we're modifying his memories. He'll think he lost his memory on a failed mission to Qo'noS." Marcus said. "I'm only telling you because I need you to help me keep him in the dark. If he starts remembering _anything_ , you let me know."

She nodded. "Yes, sir." She said, though she hadn't decided whether she would follow that order or not.

"Good." Marcus nodded. "Go ahead and get back to work. I'll be sending him over once he's caught up, and I'd like you to welcome him."

She inclined her head and backed out.

* * *

"Hello, are you Ayror?"

The romulan's gaze flicked up to the doorway, where a man with dark hair, pale skin, and brilliant blue eyes was standing looking somewhat lost.

"John Harrison." He said, coming in and holding out his hand. "I, ah… was transferred to weapons development by Admiral Marcus."

Ayror straightened. Marcus's modifications were impressive; he looked nothing like the Khan of human history. And his mannerisms, politely disoriented, seemed quite far from the warlord's savage tyranny.

Time would tell how long it held.

She took his hand. "He told me you lost your memories." She said.

He twitched, then gave her a rueful look. "Uh, yes. They say I was lucky to get out of there."

"You don't remember anything?" She asked.

He shook his head slightly. "Nothing. It's a blank slate." He rubbed his head. "I would've thought that would include language, but it seems that is not the case."

"Fortunately," She said wryly.

"Indeed." He mirrored her.

She studied him thoughtfully. Even under his confusion, she thought she could see a hint of the dangerous man he had once been. Maybe it was just her imagination, having read quite a bit about the man who had once ruled nearly a quarter of the entire earth, but she had a feeling that that kind of personality could not be easily suppressed.

"Er," He said politely. "Did we, uh, did we know each other?" He asked a little awkwardly.

She had been staring a little too long. She decided to capitalize on it anyway. "Yes." It wasn't hard to fake an unhappy tone. "You really don't remember?"

He bit his lip. "'Fraid not." He admitted, his voice quieting. "I'm sorry."

She gave him a forced smile. "Guess we'll just have to start fresh." She said. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, John."

He smiled back. "And you, Ayror." He paused. "Can I ask…" His eyes glanced up to her forehead. "Are you…" He shifted. "Can I ask about the ridges on your head?"

Her mouth twitched. "I suppose you don't remember the other species in the galaxy."

"Uh," He looked a bit taken aback. "No. No, I don't."

"I'm a romulan. I defected from the Romulan Empire." She straightened.

* * *

She explains about the various races throughout the galaxy, as well as the nations in play (Federation, Klingons, Romulan Empire). She also explains where they are in weapons development, and that they have a team of engineers to figure out how to handle the details of making the weapons they come up with.

* * *

"What is our purpose, then?" John queried. "If it is their job to design weapons-"

"Their purpose is to implement our designs." Ayror corrected. "They are not inventors; that's our job."

"Why?"

She looked up and met his gaze. "Because we are better at it." She said simply.

Marcus was watching. Marcus was always watching. And he had reason to. But the fact was, it was all his doing; he was the one building this environment of paranoia… because of his own paranoia. He didn't trust her, so she had no reason to be trustworthy. It kept coming back to what Kenny had taught her. _We make our own demons._

And here was proof, wasn't it? The greatest tyrant in human history had been created to bring mankind together. Marcus was exploiting her deception with blackmail… and now he was exploiting Khan's savagery with chains.

 _It's a self-fulfilling prophecy. He's going to meet his destiny on the road he's taking to avoid it._

His eyes narrowed, and the corner of her mouth twitched.

 _Because he's right. No one knows how to play the game better than a romulan._ "You have any idea how strange this is?" She asked. "I know you don't remember, but it's not like I've forgotten." She straightened. "I know you have therapists helping you with this, but I'll ask Admiral Marcus. Maybe we can try some meditation techniques."

He blinked, caught off guard by her offer to help him remember. "I'd… I'd like that." He said with a surprised sort of smile.

* * *

"I'm going to give you five seconds to explain yourself." Marcus growled softly. "You're not to be encouraging him to get his memories back!"

Ayror's eyes narrowed, and she held up a finger. "One: Friends care if you've lost your memories, enemies don't." She lifted another finger. "Two: Suggesting false memories like history and camaraderie keeps him focused on trying to remember things he wouldn't and away from things he would." She lifted a third finger. "Three: He's the most powerful warlord in human history for a reason. If he gets even the slightest inkling that we're trying to hide things from him, he'll stop at nothing to get his memories back… and he won't tell us that's what he's doing."

Marcus paused.

She let him think on it for a few moments, then continued because she knew he wouldn't ask. "You wanted me because I come from a world of paranoia." She pointed out. "Let me handle the manipulation. You just make sure the therapists keep his memories suppressed medically. Reset him daily if you want… though I'd probably recommend resetting him after every project instead so he doesn't lose his place too much."

* * *

Over the next couple of months, Ayror works up a rapport with "John," even though Marcus keeps having his memory reset. During this time, Ayror also becomes familiar with Khan's psyche, and learns how to manipulate him in a multitude of ways (though she keeps it to herself and keeps him in line).

* * *

Ayror glanced up as the door opened. "John," She greeted with an air of distraction.

He paused. "Is now a good time?" He asked, noticing.

She hesitated.

It was so easy. She knew exactly how he would act, saw it before he'd even decided himself. She knew what he was going to say, even before he'd decided what to say. She could make him believe anything. Quite literally.

But she only knew John. She didn't know Khan.

"I, uh," He shuffled a little and leaned on the doorframe. "I was thinking about last session. I think I know where I went wrong. I wanted to try again."

Maybe, if she was lucky, she knew his heart. But she didn't know his head. And the soul of a warlord would be far more assertive and untamed than someone who didn't even know who he was.

"I could… come back later," He said very reluctantly, frowning at her.

Even so… she couldn't do this without him. She couldn't escape without help, and General Marcus was on the fast track to intergalactic war.

She held his gaze a little longer, adding in a tinge of unhappiness as she bit her lip. Then she dropped her gaze. "Yeah." She mumbled, looking away. "I'm kind of…" She rubbed her face. "I'm sorry. It's just… hard." She said quietly, giving him a brief glance before leaning against the table.

He came in, drawn by her vulnerability. He paused a few steps away, studying her artfully unhappy frame.

She'd done this once before; manufactured affection in their history. Marcus hadn't been happy about it, but it had kept John under longer than any other time. So it wasn't like it would be a change in her behavior; it wouldn't necessarily throw up any red flags on its own.

She just had to hope the rest of it wouldn't either.

"I'm sorry." He said quietly. "I wish I could remember."

She shifted, her shoulders hunching a little.

His hand cupped her chin, and he tilted her head up so their eyes met. She let a blush fill her cheeks, and he bent down, his other hand wrapping around her to pin her up against him.

This was, she felt, the closest she ever got to the warlord; his assertive, dominant nature was easily expressed in the strength of his kiss and the way he held her. She hardly had to do anything at this point.

Just one thing.

She tilted her head to the side, and he obligingly went down to her neck. And as she nuzzled his dark curls, her mouth obscured by his hair and too close to his ear for sensors to pick up, she whispered, "Have you ever wondered…"

She paused, her hands tightening in his uniform. He responded, pulling her closer and kissing more fiercely.

"…if we belong here?"

He twitched, alarmed, but she was ready to hide his tremor. She had to rely on everything she knew to keep him engaged, to keep him from giving away the game. She made it seem like it was casual, the question of a lover in the heat of the moment - just for a moment longer.

Then the break would be natural.

But he held her in place when she tried to retreat.

There was a pause, and she became acutely aware that she was pressed up against the beating heart of the most powerful and most feared warlord in the history of Earth.

He cupped her head, pulling her down against his neck, and turned his head in a similar fashion.

 _The breadth of an instant, the faintest of clues, and he's already adapting._

Her heart raced.

"Do we?" He whispered, his breath tickling her ear and rustling through her hair.

It took everything she had, but instead of breaking away in the way that would have confirmed all his suspicions -and Admiral Marcos's- she leaned against him. He was thrown off guard; her move could be interpreted as simple fatigue or unhappiness… in other words, not as a rebel.

And for a moment, he doubted. He was still John; she could still play him like a fiddle. She could tell him she just wanted a break. She could tell him she was just tired. She could even tell him it was all in his head, and he'd believe her. He might be close to the edge, but he'd been closer before, and she'd talked him out of it.

But she couldn't do this without him.

They stood in silence for a moment, and she used her body language to lie with all the wiles of a serpent. No one would doubt her; they couldn't. They might play the game, but she was the master.

The trick was getting John to play along.

"No." She broke out of his embrace, as if to answer a different sort of question. "Not right now. I really need to get back to work."

He caught her arm, his eyes boring into hers. She gave him the slightest tremor, the faintest glance, to remind him of their audience. "Maybe later." She said, touching his arm and sliding out of his grip. "I'll come find you."

He hesitated, looking like he was about to refuse, and she got the sense that Khan would have. But this was John.

He left.

* * *

She was heading down to the office when she was intercepted by Admiral Marcos. One look told her instantly what he was going to say: that he was having John's memory erased again. He was borderline accusatory - if she had been any less artful, he would have blamed her.

What a dangerous game she was playing.

"I'm having his memory wiped again." Marcos said, stopping, and she gave him a properly grumpy look. "I know it was effective last time, but I'd rather we not use a… seductive tactic."

She rolled her eyes. " _He_ doesn't remember it, but I have to keep making friends. Can you blame me for changing it up?" She grumbled, folding her arms and leaning against the wall. "Maybe we should change his name, too."

"And this time, I want you two to just be colleagues. No friendship." Marcos added.

She stopped. "Oh? And who do you want him to identify with? Or do you want to just tell him who he is?"

"He doesn't have to identify with anyone. We'll keep him contained." The admiral said confidently, his eyes narrowing. "Thought you would have liked to have a break. Or are you getting attached?"

 _There it is._ She sneered back. "He's hardly my type. We're not even the same species." She shrugged. "I'll admit, it's been fun twisting him around my finger…" She paused, listening to the sounds that the human couldn't hear yet. _Okay, talk about lovely timing._ "…but not as fun as twisting you."

Marcos looked as if he'd been slapped. She doubted he'd expected her to come out and admit it like that - not right there, not out in the open, not without some kind of warning or indication this was coming.

So she just glanced down the hall.

He instinctively followed her gaze… and heard the sounds of conflict. "What did you tell him?"

"Nothing. He figured it out on his own." She said innocently.

"You said something. All this time, he's never figured out who he is. What did you tell him?" He started hurrying off down the passage towards the noise.

"Given who he is, is that _really_ the direction you want to be running?" She snickered.

He turned back, lifting a finger. "You've made your last mistake, romulan. Once we sort this mess out, I'll kill you myself."

Ayror shrugged and studied her fingernails. "Sure. Whatever you say. I'll be sitting right here waiting, I _promise_."

Marcos grimaced, but there was no one around to arrest her… and she wasn't the immediate threat. He tapped the pin on his chest, and his voice was magnified across the intercom. "Security, if you see the romulan, arrest her. Use of deadly force is authorized." He left.

She waited a couple of seconds, then turned and headed off down the corridor. John had almost certainly regained his memories, becoming Khan the warlord. But either way, he didn't know her outside the facility; Marcos's little announcement would validate her claim that they were both prisoners. He would be less likely to shoot her, but she didn't really want to test that.

And with him making a racket…

She could slip away virtually unnoticed.

Free at last.


End file.
